Neighbours
by DreamBrother
Summary: A series of one-shots about Don, told from the POV of each of his neighbours. First up, Susan Long.


**Disclaimer: **Numb3rs belongs not to me.

**A/N: **Nothing to do with the Aussie soap, I promise. Creative license tested out with the layout/etc of Don's apartment and building. It's also a testament to my will power if I go through the whole one-shot without writing "flat" instead.

I plan on turning this into a sort of series, updated sporadically, a different neighbour each time. However the following neighbour might read, do remember I only write Gen fic :-).

* * *

**Neighbours**

Susan Long waited patiently for the elevator. Worn out from a hard, long day at work for a multinational who should have appreciated her effort more, she couldn't wait for the relaxation a nice, hot bath would afford before she'd jump into bed, only to begin work the next morning once again.

Shifting her weight from one aching heel to another, she wasn't so desperate for a bath that she'd trudge up the six flights of stairs to her floor. No, the elevator light kindly told her the carriage was at basement level where the small parking garage for the block's residents was – it would only be a matter of seconds before it'd reach the ground floor, where she stood in the lobby.

The bell _dinged_ and the steel doors slid open only to reveal one of Susan's neighbours occupying the small, six feet by six feet space. Allowing a slight smile to come onto her face in hello, the young woman quickly stepped inside before pressing the button for her floor.

Susan had only been in LA for a year and had already changed apartments twice. This latest one looked to be a winner though, for all that it had only been two months since she'd moved in. The building on Jefferson Street was much like a small rectangular block, three large apartments on each floor, and about ten floors in all. As such, she knew by face many of her neighbours – this man was one of the few she knew the least since they never seemed to cross paths.

Tall, dark and handsome, Susan would have been attracted to him had she not been drawn to members of her own sex. Still, he would have been a catch and she idly wondered what a few of her straight friends might say if they ever visited her and ran into him. She just hoped she wouldn't have to go through the arduous, and most embarrassing, task of setting them up, as she'd done a few times before with other people.

Romantic notions aside, Susan couldn't help but want to help the man regardless. She'd noted his tired posture the moment the elevator doors had opened and even her presence didn't make it any better, as the man continued to lean his head against the elevator wall. He had smiled back slightly in return of her own greeting but it hadn't done much to erase the lines of fatigue on his features. As someone who worked long hours when the going got tough at the oft in trouble company, she knew all about exhaustion, and could sympathize.

As the elevator car started moving, Susan's nose crinkled as she noted the smoky smell. What struck her was that it wasn't the usual cigarette smoke she'd grown used to, having lived with chain-smoking parents back home in Missouri. No, this was a result of fire on a much larger scale than a two inch tobacco stick. A quick peak to her left allowed her to note the black dust covering the man's jacket and trousers here and there. Her very-informed, sixty-seven year old neighbour who occupied the apartment down the hall from her had filled her in about the other block residents and she knew she was standing next to the FBI agent – as if the bulge in his soot-covered jacket wouldn't have been telling enough.

Pursing her lips, she battled internally over whether to introduce herself or not. The elevator was rapidly approaching the third floor and a quick look at the floor buttons in front of her informed her that her fellow elevator occupant meant to get off on the eighth. Fighting that part of her which hadn't allowed her to voice her crush on Billy Stevens back in the fourth grade when she still liked members of the opposite sex, Susan spoke up:

"Nothing like a long, hot shower at the end of a working day, huh?"

The sudden breaking of silence had the man next to her jerking slightly as he turned his head towards her. Noting the slight frown on his face, along with the confusion in his eyes, Susan replayed her words in her head, cursing inwardly when she realized what she'd said could have been misconstrued as a sort of invitation.

Hell no.

"What I meant to really say is, you're covered in soot and you look about as tired as I feel."

Thankfully, her neighbour had a sense of humour and wasn't chock full of raging hormones intent on getting her into bed, choosing instead to choose the funny side of her sudden lack of social skills.

"Yeah," the FBI agent replied with a smile which even Susan could appreciate. "It's been a long day."

"Tell me about it," Susan murmured to herself, mentally counting how many cups of coffee had to be drained in order to get her to this point in one piece. "My name's Susan Long, by the way," she extended her right hand. "I only moved in a few weeks ago so still trying to get to know everyone else in the building."

"Don Eppes." Susan felt her hand engulfed in a firm grip and idly wondered if she had soot on her hands now, too.

The elevator dinged once again and the doors slid open to reveal her floor. Exhaustion setting in again, she gladly stepped out but not before she said:

"If you use all the hot water in the building, I'll let it slide, just this once."

That earned her a chuckle. "Duly noted, thank you."

Susan nodded and headed down the hall, already fishing for her keys when the elevator doors slid shut again.

By the time she'd managed to lay out her pyjamas and had started to run the long over-due bath, Susan had forgotten all about the elevator encounter.

However, she was reminded only an hour later when she slipped into her soft, Egyptian sheets covered bed, wet hair wrapped in a towel around her head. Reaching for the television remote, she pressed the power button and started flipping through the channels, coming to a stop when a late-night news broadcast showing a burning building caught her eye. Immediately, she turned up the volume.

"_Earlier today, federal authorities tracked down the arsonists suspected in at least four house fires to a suburban housing development in Glendale. Before their apprehension, the two arsonists, named as John Gills and Frank Willis, set alight the house next to them as a diversion but FBI agents on scene were able to get the family outside in time. Fire-fighters were then able to put out the blaze..." _

The newscaster continued to drone on some more about the arsonists' crimes and motives but Susan's mind was concentrating wholly on the video the channel's camera crew had shot at the scene. She could see the smoke rising from the house as fire-fighters fought the blaze in the background, but what interested her the most was the men and women in dark jackets, some emblazoned with the letters FBI, as they stood next to black SUVs blocking part of the road. Amongst them, Susan could pick out the form of her neighbour as he stood in the same clothes she'd seen him in just over an hour ago.

_No wonder he was smelling of smoke and covered in ash – he must have been one of the agents who got the family out while the house was on fire_, Susan reasoned.

Suddenly, living in this apartment block looked a whole lot better than before. It couldn't hurt, having an FBI agent living in the same building as she was, and just two floors above her at that. If she ever got stalked by some crazy, random person, she'd know where to turn.

Susan turned off the television and the bedside lamp and snuggled deeply into the covers, making up her mind to say hello again to Don Eppes the next time she ran into him, along with asking old Mrs Feeny more about their soot-covered, worn out, life-saving federal agent of a neighbour.

**TBC Mrs Feeny**


End file.
